Eight degrees

today and very foggy this morning. Managed to crawl out of my pit at a reasonable hour to head down to the local pitch and putt - packed with the great and good of Ealing (and an inordinately high proportion of Scousers) - who weren't watching their kids playing football or walking the dog or going to church or whatever else the West London middle classes do of a fresh Sunday morning. Anyway, after several months of not hitting a ball in anger, I think my efforts were not too appalling... My feet are still recovering from the ice cold dew that lay on most of the fairways. Aircooled running shoes are nice, but offer no protection against superchilled droplets of water.

My ITunes quest continues apace - trying to copy over 1,000 CDs takes a lot of time, but it does mean I am (re)discovering a mass of songs I had forgotten I owned. In fact, I am making a concious effort to copy the least heard parts of my collection first, so that by the time I get back to the most popular, I will have forgotten them (most probably due to the onset of Alzheimer's, as it may take a number of years).

My X-box is still very kaputt - as they say in Germany - and I am in denial at the moment about the fact that I will have to send it to Microsoft to get it fixed. This is on top of the fact that I will have to contact the letting agency to sort out the damp problem in my room - they will not be happy, as it seems to be a major structural issue with the building as a whole - missing tiles and mouldy exterior walls. At least I now know it's not my excessively hot showers. Or nocturnal perspiration.